


People Disappear All The Time

by Tyr_The_Extraordinaire



Series: A Brave New World [1]
Category: How to Train Your Dragon (Movies)
Genre: Bounty Hunters, Canon Divergence - How to Train Your Dragon: The Hidden World, Murder, One Shot, Original Character Death(s), Original Character(s), POV Original Character, Post-How To Train Your Dragon (2010), Prequel, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 19:15:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,265
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24730672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tyr_The_Extraordinaire/pseuds/Tyr_The_Extraordinaire
Summary: It was supposed to be a simple. In and out. Mads had done it more times than he cared to count. He had planned it out well and considered all the variables, like he always did.But something always went wrong, no matter how much you prepared, no matter how good you think you are, something can always fail. And Mads was tired, he wasexhausted. He was sick of feeling this guilt and no matter how much he attempted to rationalise it, he knew it was his fault.
Series: A Brave New World [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2076444
Kudos: 1





	People Disappear All The Time

**Author's Note:**

> Hello, hola, bonjour, hallo, 你好, 안녕하세요, こんにちは, Привет, مرحبا, and हैलो. 
> 
> I have been absent for, well, quite awhile, but I'm back. And I've brought with me something very underwhelming. It is a one shot about an original character of mine I am planning on writing a few books about, which I do plan to release on this site. The summary for that is in my bio. But the story is set in the universe of How To Train Your Dragon, as you probably already know from the tags, and while I'm fully aware original characters are by no means the most popular on this site, I do hope you give it a chance and enjoy it.
> 
> Title comes from a Bear McCreary piece composed for the Outlander TV show. I have his music in my playlist for this world, you should listen to it while you read :)
> 
> [Playlist](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2hpeShqQhupIFFzfojHPJL?si=7_sACpepS6yGv7CojX5S2g)

Mads' boots sunk into thick mud. He could feel it gush through the tears in his soles, an icy squelch that soaked his socks, chilled his toes, and made his feet slip in his boots. 

He grimaced and shook chunks of mud off his feet before realising it was a fruitless endeavour. Maybe he would find new shoes while he was here. 

Here was a remote port town, tucked away in the mountainous north of Norway. One of the foremost trading areas in these fjords, it was always bustling with knörr ships and their merchants. The main street, a jumble of eclectically placed houses and shops, was slathered in the cold, gritty mud that was currently clinging to Mads in clumps, dragging against his boots as he slogged down the road.

The bitter north wind whipped around him, yanking on his clothes and tugging his hair. He squinted against it, burying his hands deeper into his fur cloak.

Mads had spent a good part of the day wandering through the port, and by now the bite of late spring had set its teeth firmly into his bones. He had established a good feel for the people and layout of the region, getting lost more than once in the narrow, suffocating alleyways along the way.

And just minutes before, as dusk began to blanket the land, the weather had turned temperamental and a snow laden storm swept in from sea. 

As the sky darkened a ball of anxiety settled itself in his stomach, he really didn't want this job to be like the last one. Granted being chased, weaponless and exhausted, through the streets of Rome in broad daylight was about as bad as it could get in this line of work, so he would be hard pressed to beat that job, especially with something so simple. But as luck would have it, just as the first snowflakes began to dust his cloak, Mads spotted what he had been searching for as he strolled past the church. 

The snow now spun in dizzying whorls through the air, brushing against Mads' skin like cold fingers as he lifted his head, catching a glimpse of the sturdy building ahead. It shone like a beacon through the wind tossed snow, lit up like a burning pyre. It's golden light spilled out of the shuttered windows and pooled on the wet ground, glinting and rippling in the puddle marred street like liquid amber.

A wholeheartedly welcoming sight, Mads concluded, as he lost the remaining feeling in his toes. He veered towards it and wrapped himself tighter in his cloak.

Slipping and sliding in the street muck, its cold, earthy odour filling his nostrils, Mads made it to the deep set arch of the door, feeling warmer already. The raucous cacophony of laughter, jesting debate, and playful screams of barmaids reached him through oaken planks and warped glass windows, as he paused, reading himself.

Shaking out his shoulders, Mads heaved the door open and was hit all at once by a glorious wave of heat. He hurried to step inside, letting the door swing itself shut behind him with a dull thud. 

He gave the hall a cursory glance, eyes flitting from patron to patron. Some looked up at the gust of cold air and snow his entrance had let in, but most continued their celebrations, unconcerned by Mads' nondescript figure.

The room was packed, a clamour of sounds and an odd, yet familiar, melting pot of smells: warm bread and sweat, boiled pork and tobacco, spiced stews and stale mead. It invaded Mads' senses in a matter of moments and left him feeling strangely misplaced.

He blinked and shook himself to clear the cold. Moving carefully through the tables, he sidestepped more than one boisterous drunk, their arms windmilling in wild gesticulation as ale slopped erratically from their tankards and drinking horns. 

Mads reached the bar, shaking spilled drink off his cloak as he leaned against the counter, and glanced at the men seated beside him. They appeared more reserved than the other patrons and were watching him with overt curiosity.

Mads narrowed his eyes, taking in the expensive swords and axes they carried, shields and helmets resting next to their feet beneath the bar. Vikings.

" -can I get you then?"

Mads looked back to the counter and was greeted with the smiling face of a barmaid, her curly brown hair pulled tightly back from her broad, freckled face with a bright red ribbon. She shook back a few of the frazzled locks that had managed to slip free in the frenzied action of the tavern and looked at him expectantly.

"Oh right- I don't mean to intrude, but I'm actually here on business," Mads said, settling down on a stool. "I'm looking for someone. I was told he frequents this drinking hall and was hoping to be pointed in his direction."

The barmaid's smile didn't falter at this and Mads had to admire her professionalism as she responded to the odd request.

"You sure? It's the Ostara celebration and we're selling cheap." Her toothy smile became teasing. "Besides, it's not good manners to refuse a drink if you expect me to dish out on my patrons."

Mads glanced around the room. "It's your tavern?"

"Sure is, took over after my husband passed and I wouldn't be a very good business owner if I let you swindle your way out of buying a drink or two." Her unwavering smile took the bite out of her words. "It's the least you can do if you want my other services."

Shifting uncomfortably, Mads relented and pulled out a coin pouch.

"Alright then. How much for a small ale?"

Her grin became sharp with victory and she pointed at the pricing board hanging on the wall behind her.

Mads squinted and handed her the appropriate coinage.

She turned away and fixed him the drink. Foam slipped down the side as she set the tankard in front of him.

"So, who's this lucky fellow you're looking for?" She rested her arms on the bar.

Mads couldn't decide if her words were sarcastic or not.

"He's tall- notably so- with black hair and a long beard. He carries a double headed axe, goes by Asbjörn Hamundarsson, and has a Scauldron tattoo on his forearm."

At the mention of his name and tattoo the bar owner's eyes slid away from his for a second. It was slight and she hid her apprehension well, but Mads had been looking for it.

"I- " she pushed a tangled lock of hair behind her ear, "I don't think I've seen anyone like that around these parts, maybe you missed him."

Mads smiled faintly.

"No. No, I don't think I have. He lives here and is running with a crew from these docks." He shrugged. "If you don't want to tell me it's fine, I can- "

A stool scraped beside Mads as one of the men at the bar twisted around to face him.

"And what the fuck do you want with Asbjörn, runt?"

Mads grimaced at the intrusion and the bar owner fell silent, shooting Mads a quick warning look.

Turning to face the man who had spoken, Mads glanced around the tavern. Several men in earshot had fallen silent to listen in and Mads sighed before addressing the man before him.

"What is my business with Hamundarsson to you?" He asked, forcing himself to relax his crossed arms. 

"Just curious," the man said, his lips curling into a poor imitation of a smile.

Mads looked the man over, from his worn boots, utilitarian clothes, tall posture, and the sword he carried sheathed at his hip. A tattoo, faded but still visible, peeked out from under his sleeve and Mads recognised the curved tail of a- 

Of a Scauldron. 

Fuck.

Weighing his options and eyeing the man before him in a new light, Mads accepted that lying his way out of this would be more effort than it was worth. 

"I'm a bounty hunter. Asbjörn Hamundarsson has a bounty upon his head and I'm here to collect."

Mads met the man's eyes. "Dead or alive."

The man took a step closer, his smile broadening in a deceptive facade that masked the hostility hardening to flint in his eyes.

"So pray tell, what did he do?" The man asked, "steal some rich bastards sheep?"

The patrons around them laughed and the man smirked at Mads. 

Mads tried to smile in good humour, but the expression felt tired on his face.

"Well, no. Not quite." His smile faded. "He killed the daughter of a rich bastard. And this rich bastard will pay a lot of money to see their daughter's killer locked up, or dead."

The laughter stopped and the man snorted in an impressive combination of disbelief and outrage.

"Are you fucking with me? Asbjörn is a good man, he wouldn't kill a defenseless woman."

"Not a woman," Mads said quietly.

The man crossed his arms. "What?"

"She wasn't a woman. She hadn't even reached her thirteenth year."

The silence had now spread to the back of the room, a few tavern goers standing up to get a better look at the confrontation.

"Listen the fuck up, runt." The man stepped into Mads' space and warning bells went off in his head.

"Asbjörn is a good man, and folk around here have taken a liking to him, so don't go around spouting this bullshit about him unless you want to wake up with a knife in your eye."

Judging from the chilly atmosphere of the hall, Mads guessed the man wasn't too far off with his threat.

The crowd muttered it's agreement and Mads grazed the back of his hand against the course fletching of the arrows at his hip.

"I'm not leaving until I find Asbjörn Hamundarsson," Mads spoke cautiously, careful to not let hostility into his words and hoping the man would be reasonable.

It didn't work.

The man shoved Mads' shoulder and he stumbled back, catching himself against the counter. His hand wanted to jerk to his quiver but Mads halted the motion before anyone noticed, clenching his hand into a fist instead.

"Who the fuck do you think you are? Coming into our town with some cooked up excuse to kill a good man?" The man shoved Mads again, but he was ready for it this time and didn't budge.

"So? What the fuck's your name, ergi cunt?"

The room stilled, the hall thrumming with incipient violence at those words. At _that_ word.

Mads stiffened. His eyes jerked up to meet the man's gaze. The hall was quiet, the man's provoking words had drawn the attention of the last few patrons who hadn't been watching the spectacle. 

Mads' next words were weary.

"It's Osbernsson."

Silence. The man stepped back, staring at Mads in disbelief. The whole tavern was staring now.

"The fuck you just say to me?"

Mads sighed. "My name is Mads Osbernsson."

He waited a beat. Shrugging, he pushed back his hood and ran a hand though his matted white hair. That hood had been snagging his hair all day.

The man stared at Mads a moment longer, glancing at the men behind him and when he looked back at Mads there was a cunning edge to his smile.

"The bounty hunter with a bounty on his head, eh?" The man threw out his arms in mock ceremony. "The famed Voiceless One." The man moved closer, his friends behind him shifting. "I thought you were a mute, but I guess you're just shy, isn't that right?"

Mads didn't say anything, he just blinked at the man as he leaned in closer.

"You're a long way from home, dragon-born," he said.

Mads flinched at the name as if the man had spat in his face.

Dragon-born, dragon-raised, dragonwise, dragon sage. His family and their uncanny knowledge of the winged devils had accumulated quite a collection of names over years.

Mads hated every one of them.

Stools scrapped on planks as the man's companions stood, leather clad weapons squeaking as they were gripped.

The room seemed to go entirely still in those seconds, the whole room holding its breath as Mads stared the man down.

Something glinted out the corner of his eye. He ducked, jerking back into the counter as his vision was filled with the dull shine of metal.

All chaos broke free.

The man lunged at him again with an old looking axe, and upon meeting no resistance, he stumbled. Mads took that opportunity to duck around him and he ran for the door.

The still of just moments before broke and the hall erupted in cheers, yells, and jeers as Mads dodged and weaved, contorting between tables and pillars, twisting away from the grabbing the hands of drunk farmers and merchants as they eagerly joined the fray.

The viking crew barged after him, their speed and agility impeded by their shields and weapons in the overstuffed room.

Mads spotted the door over the rambunctious crowd and angled for it, vaulting over an unoccupied table and sending dishes and tankards scattering. He landed in a crouch, nearly tripping over a bowl as he shrugged his bow from over his shoulder, and slid three arrows from his quiver, holding them against the bow's grip as he slammed his back against the closed door. 

Mads slid an arrow in place and drew back. The tavern goers around him flinched away from the movement and the room went deathly still.

The viking crew froze. Their eyes were trained on the slender arrowhead locked onto them, the razor tip glinting wickedly in the flickering lantern light.

Mads eyed them warily, he might be able to put down two or three before they reached him, but all six? Unlikely. He recalled the layout of the town in his mind, thanking the gods he'd had time to scout earlier, and considered possible routes once he got outside. 

Mads kept them in his line of sight as he turned and shouldered the door open, slipping out into the darkening town streets. 

The wind knocked the breath from his chest, his skin flushing as the warmth was leached from him. In seconds he was shivering. 

With his bow lowered and arrow still nocked, Mads sprinted across the road, his feet slipping in the slush of mud and ice as he heard the heavy thud of the door being shoved open behind him. He didn't need to look to know that the crew had continued their pursuit.

He had to split them up, he was drastically outnumbered and he wasn't going to fool himself; close combat was not his specialty and no matter how experienced you were, six to one were unrealistic odds.

With a goal to work towards, Mads scoured the street as he ran, the heavy squelching footsteps of the vikings pounding in his ears.

He spotted what he was looking for and hurtled down the dark alley, slamming bodily into the building as he took the corner too fast. His stomach dropped out when his foot slipped and he had to grab onto the wall to stop himself from falling. 

Mads shook the mud off his boots, his heart throbbing in his throat as he heard the vikings behind him. Closer, closer. He continued running. The thick muck was dragging at him, it latched onto his feet and weighed them down like they were iron. 

Up ahead Mads saw the shadow of a narrow crevice between two buildings and his heart leaped. Maybe he could find somewhere to hide and just wait them out. 

He threw himself down the alley, wedging himself between the support logs and waited, his ears straining as he heard the vikings pull up just near the mouth of the passage.

"Where the fuck did he go?" 

"I don't know, he was right here." 

"Well he didn't just fucking disappear, Vidar."

They were out of breath and frustrated, their voices carrying in the midnight calm to where Mads hid, pressed into the shadows. He prayed that they didn't find him, that they kept moving and didn't- 

"Wait. What's that?" 

Mads swore silently. 

Footsteps.

He didn't dare breathe as he stood motionless in the darkness, suppressing the shivers that threatened to wrack his body. 

"He must have gone down here." That was Vidar. 

Mads turned his face, a pale circle in the darkness, into the damp log beside him and the musty odor of wood and mold filled his nose. He ignored the childish instinct to squeeze his eyes shut and relaxed into the wall. 

A shadow moved across the wet ground and a split second later a man stepped out in front of Mads, so close that if he wanted to he could reach out and grab his shoulder.

Then he was out of Mads' sight and he swallowed back the sour burn of bile. He hadn't been seen, as long as he remained quiet and still they wouldn't find him. 

"This leads back to the main street, he must have circled around."

More movement from the alley and Mads' hands started to shake. He clenched them into fists. 

"We should split up and look for him, he could have gone anywhere."

Oh please, please, please let them split up. 

"Good idea, you two take the docks. Vidar you should check the forest line- "

"You think he'd really go into the forest? It's the height of hunting season, those trees are full of predators."

A pause. 

"As I was saying. Vidar you should check the forest just in case and the rest of us will make our way through the backstreets. We'll circle around and meet back up here. If you find him, yell for one of us. Do not try to take him on alone." 

The men grunted in understanding and jogged off. As soon as their footsteps were swallowed by the night birds and ocean waves Mads ducked out from his hiding spot and traced his footsteps back into the alley.

His best option was the forest. They were right, it was the height of hunting season and there were plenty of animals in those woods that would love to eat him, but his alternative was to sneak across town to the docks, avoid those two vikings, steal a dingey, and then row around the coast to the next cove where he could beach. 

The forest it was. 

Mads broke out of the town and onto the dark pastures. He could make out the pale forms of sheep and the hulking figures of yaks grazing on the long grass. 

He vaulted over the fence and took off running, he could just see the jagged black line of pines over the gentle rise, their tops silhouetted against the thunderous sky. 

A shadow flickered in the corner of his eye and something heavy slammed him into the fence, jarring his skull and knocking the breath from his lungs. Mads managed to toss his bow to the side just in time. 

"I've got him! By the pastures, by the- " 

Mads grabbed a fistful of shirt and jerked his knee up into something soft- a stomach? He wasn't sure -and Vidar let out a grunt, doubling over.

Definitely his stomach.

Mads' own stomach lurched as his legs were ripped out from under him and his face slammed into the wet grass with a crack. His ears rang and blood trickled thickly down his throat, sharp and bitter.

He wheezed and coughed against the metallic liquid choking him. He spat out a mouthful of the stuff and rolled onto his back, the world muffled and his head throbbing.

Hands grabbed the labels of his cloak and dragged him up, so close that Mads could feel rasping breaths against his cheek.

Mads lashed out, hands clawing blindly through the sting of blood in his watering eyes, and his fingers scraped skin. He scrabbled for a second, then latched on, digging into what he realised must be the soft cavities of the other man's eyes.

A scream. If the others hadn't heard Vidar yell before, before they certainly would now. 

The impermeable grip on his shirt loosened and Vidar reeled back, hitting the ground with a dull thump.

Mads followed him down, leaping onto his chest and ramming his hands under his jaw, crushing his throat between his fingers. The man thrashed, his legs jerking as he tried to throw him off.

Fingers aching, Mads clung on, pinning the man's arms with his knees as he tried to grab onto him.

Too long. It was taking too long, his crew members could get here at any moment and then he'd be fucked. 

Mads pressed down harder, and harder, until he heard the crunch of cartilage against bone. 

Vidar twitched. Hands clawing fruitlessly against the ground. His legs fell limp. 

Mads uncurled his fingers. The man was still under him, his chest no longer rising, arms slack.

Rolling off him quickly, Mads crumpled to his hands and knees as he caught his breath.

Before the thought had fully crossed his mind, he was grabbing Vidar's ankles and dragging the dead weight across the grass. Mads pushed him upright against the wall of the church, and in the darkness he wasn't a dead body but a sleeping vagabond.

But even with nothing but the dim moon, half hidden behind dark clouds, to illuminate the scene, Mads could make out his glassy, staring eyes, gleaming like pearls from the dark. 

Averting his own eyes, Mads clawed around in the long grass for his bow, shaky fingers brushing it's smooth wood. He slung in over his and inhaled.

Frustrated tears pricked Mads' eyes as he stared at the outline of Vidar's limp corpse. He understood loyalty, he understood why these men wanted to protect their friend, he really did. He knew they wouldn't believe a stranger over their trust in their crewmate and his morality, but this. This death? It was completely, disgustingly unnecessary. 

Mads shook his head, exhaustion hitting him as the fear faded. He wiped the blood from his eyes as he searched for movement. 

Through the darkness he heard the uneven rhythm of boots slapping on mud and the mutter of angry voices. 

He couldn't wait any longer. His feet pounded into the damp grass as he sprinted towards the gloomy line of trees beyond the pasture. He jumped another fence and then he was pushing aside branches and swerving between trunks. He tripped on bulging roots and staggered into the bushes.

Only once he'd lost sight of the town through the trees, did he slow. By then the moon was his only beacon, the fire of the town dying down behind him, and the only sounds in his ears were the staccato chirp of night insects and the harsh drag of his own breathing in the freezing night air. 

He glanced over his shoulder, again seeing nothing, and ducked under the drooping limbs of an archaic oak dripping with acorns. The branches dipped under their weight and the curtains of leaves obscured him entirely from view. As long as he kept still, anyone walking past would have a hard time spotting him.

Mads exhaled unsteadily as the energy and panic of the fight rushed from his body, leaving it heavy and aching. His hands were still shaking, his legs unsteady as he sunk into the damp weeds.

He still felt sick, and he couldn't get the image of Vidar's eyes out of his mind. Staring and hollow. He was innocent, he was completely and utterly innocent. He told himself it was self defense, but it didn't make him feel any better. A man was still dead. 

The fight flashed back to him as he settled against the twisted trunk and closed his eyes, tugging his cloak closer as cold wind washed over him.

Mads scrubbed his bloodstained hands over his trousers, trying in vain to rub away the memory of his fingers digging into Vidar's eyes, to erase the snap of bones that had reverberated through his arms as his hands had crushed the viking's throat.

His heart pounded as he tried with no avail to calm himself down. Every crack of twigs and rustle of leaves jerked his eyes open, scanning the woods as he squeezed his thighs until his fingers cramped.

But he was alone. Alone in the dark trees, alone on this job, with no backup. And now he had a viking crew after him and a whole town on the lookout. He hadn't even managed to get the location of Hamundarsson.

He wanted to hit something. Or scream. More than anything he wanted to cry. But he didn't. Not now, not with everything he still needed to fix.

In the morning. He would deal with it in the morning. For now he needed to get some sleep and wash away the bone deep weariness that was eating away at him. His back ribs still throbbed from being thrown into the fence and his head spun if he moved too quickly, but he hoped rest would dull those injuries. 

Leaves crunched and Mads stilled, pressing himself into the tree. 

He waited, not even breathing.

A rabbit hopped past, it's nose twitching and eyes darting over the underbrush. It caught sight of Mads under the oak and scampered off.

The tension melted from him and he relaxed against the trunk as much as he could, his back already cramped and aching. 

It was going to be a long night.

**Author's Note:**

> So that's that, I hope you enjoyed. As always, constructive feedback would be greatly appreciated. Or if you want to just yell at me, go right ahead. Any positive comments would be amazing, I don't moderate the comments so if you want to say something horrible, also go right ahead.
> 
> I've decided to plug my other socials in the notes now as well. I go by Tyr The Extraordinaire on all platforms. Any support is wonderful, I might even start doing small recommendations, but if you have any ideas please read my bio first.
> 
> Tumblr: tyr-the-extraordinaire  
> Twitter: @TyrTheExtraord1  
> Instagram: tyr_the_extraordinaire 
> 
> \------------------------------
> 
> With everything going on in the world right now with Covid-19 and the BLM protests, I really want, more than anything, so create a space online and in my writing were people can have an escape, someplace they can go to just relax, feel safe, included, and validated. But I'm not going to do that by ignoring everything that is going on. I'm going to list a few videos, websites, and such that can be used to help out or educate. 
> 
> [George Floyd Petition](https://www.change.org/p/mayor-jacob-frey-justice-for-george-floyd<br%20/>)
> 
> [Covid-19 Response Fund](https://www.who.int/emergencies/diseases/novel-coronavirus-2019/donate<br%20/>)
> 
> [Youtube playlist of black creators/videos on black history/issues](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLMs_JcuNozJb9oaX6KT1l_-T7tZuVU_9X<br%20/>)
> 
> I know I don't have a platform or influence, but I hope than maybe just one person can see this, watch something about these issues, read something, donate something, or sign something, and maybe make a change, no matter how small. Personally, I'm going to start reading and watching more content on these topics, and I'll probably post my thoughts/conclusions on the things I read or watch, hopefully it will encourage others to do the same. Even just one or two people, as horrible as everything happening is, we can try to make something good come out of it. Even if you can't protest, you can learn and fight in other ways. 
> 
> #BlackLivesMatter.


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